


free as the birds that fly.

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mpreg, Teen Pregnancy, pregnant!sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam discovers that he's pregnant with Dean's child, things rapidly need to change. Because in a world full of hunters and demons, there's no place for a pregnant teenager. Fortunately, Sam isn't the only one who intends on keeping the child after dropping out of their cruel, violent lifestyle and together Dean and Sam start something new. Something real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After being a jerk to one of [Kaylee](http://demonbloodlatte.tumblr.com/)'s precious headcannons, i decided to make it up to her and basically that's what came out of it (ilu precious!). It's not finished yet and there's so much more fluff to come, but if you're here for the **domestic bliss** then go ahead, bask in it, rub it all over your body, breathe it in. 
> 
> [shhh, lil bab with a bab](http://pregnantsam.tumblr.com/).
> 
> xx

It had been obvious from the beginning. The weird cravings, the queasy stomach in the morning, the sudden mood drops, the increased appetite. It had all been there, right in front of him, and still when Sam slapped the pregnancy test on the counter of the small drugstore, he felt a wave of nausea and uncertainty rush over him.

The strange look the clerk was giving him didn’t help and when Sam trudged back to the motel, one hand clutching the cardboard box with the test, the other buried in the pockets of his baggy jeans, he could feel his stomach churn, his face getting hot with nervousness and probably shame.

Back in the motel, Sam rummaged through the kitchen until he found a convenient container to pee in, then went to the bathroom. Having felt dizzy the whole morning, he was now swaying slightly on his feet as he aimed at the small container, and sank down on the edge of the tub as soon as he was done emptying his bladder into the glass. The instructions on the crumpled label were simple: pee in a jar, stick in the test, wait twenty seconds before proceeding to compare the result with the small images that were printed on the paper. Easy, even when one felt like he was about to pass out and was freaking shaking with nervousness.

Sam stuck the test in and twenty seconds had never passed so agonizingly slow, giving the nervous boy enough time to think about an uncertain future. A pregnancy would change everything, no doubt about that. Sam was sixteen and, much like the rest of his family, a hunter. Life had never given him the opportunity to properly graduate from any school and with the constant moving and driving across the country, he didn’t even have a place to call home. Sure, he knew how to chop off a vampire’s head in one go and could exorcise a demon even with his mouth taped shut, but he had no illusion about where he stood in society. His life was a mess, twisted and fucked-up from beginning to end. With Mary dead and John obsessed with the idea of stripping the world of all evil, there was no way the baby had a chance of normalcy, or even a real life. There was nothing Sam had to offer; he had no job, no money, no future outside from the hunting business, and suddenly the boy felt bile rising in his throat.

Groaning, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet bowl to throw up his breakfast, choking and retching until his stomach was empty and sore. When he was done and the remnants of his meal flushed, he sat  back to take a look at his watch.

Twenty seconds.

The eternity that had unfolded itself in front of the him was over, leaving Sam no choice but to retrieve the test from the jar with shaking hands.

The sharp stench of piss almost made him gag again, but he just swallowed hard and reached for the instructions instead. His fingers were quivering like a leaf in a stiff fall breeze when he held the plastic stick with the small window against the paper. Sucking in a breath he read closer, comparing, carefully following word for word and then doing it again. And again. And again. And then another three or four times until there was no way he could deny the inevitable any longer.

The window showed a vertical line and a plus symbol in dark blue ink which only led to one conclusion: pregnant. He was pregnant. Sam Winchester was pregnant—and the father-to-be choose exactly that moment to come home from his errands.

“Heya Sammy, whatcha doin’?” Dean called from where he shrugged out of his jacket, kicking his boots off his feet.

Sam sighed, and stood with a weak smile. “Dean, we gotta talk,” he opened the conversation, and was surprised how small and raw his voice sounded as it bounced off the tiled bathroom walls.

A steep crease appeared between Dean’s eyebrows as he stepped out of the blinding sunlight that filled the hallway and into the cool half-light of the bathroom. “What’s up, Sam? You in trouble?”

At a sudden loss for words, Sam just shrugged. Honestly, he didn’t know. Was he? Was this the moment where he was supposed to freak out? Because aside from feeling dizzy and exhausted beyond all reason after only a short trip down the road, he was surprisingly okay with being pregnant.

“Sam?” Dean asked into the uncomfortable silence, pulling his brother out of his thoughts.

“I, uh, well…” Sam stammered, clutching the test and the instructions to his chest before approaching Dean with the grim look of determination on his face. “If I’m in trouble, then so are you,” he mumbled, pressing the supplies clumsily into his brother’s hands before brushing past him and walking out into the bedroom.

Sam barely had time to sit down on his side of the bed before Dean appeared in the doorway, holding the evidence of their carelessness in his hands. The look on his face was completely blank, his voice like gravel when he spoke.

“What does this mean, Sam?”

The boy on the bed shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Whaddaya think it means, huh?”

Squinting against the bright sunlight, Dean padded a little closer. “Stop fucking with me. What does it mean?”

Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the dumbstruck look on Dean’s face, the way he was clinging to the tiny plastic stick like it was a piece of flotsam that was keeping him from drowning. He looked ridiculous, knuckles turned white and eyes wide like an ocean of fern. Sam might have laughed if it hadn’t been for the nagging pain in his stomach and the dull thickness in his chest.

“What’s the matter, dude? You can read, right?” he replied, voice hollow and probably looking just as stupid as his big brother. “It says that I’m pregnant,”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant, Dean. Pregnant.”

It was almost eerie, the calm with which Dean put the test down on the sideboard before walking up to Sam, stopping right in front of him. He didn’t look dumbstruck anymore, only fierce and focused as he bent down to take his brother’s face in his hands.

“Say that again, Sammy.”

Biting his lip, Sam took a deep breath before whispering. “I’m pregnant, Dean. I have a baby inside me and you—you’re the father.”

Wonder and awe swirled in Dean’s eyes and with a gasp he captured Sam’s lips with his own, lacing their tongues together in a slow, gentle kiss. The hands that cupped Sam’s face were trembling when they pulled apart. Dropping to his knees between Sam’s thighs, Dean didn’t even try to hide the single tear that was sliding down his cheek unchecked. Instead he leaned in to rest his forehead against the planes of Sam’s stomach.

“Heya babe,” he whispered into Sam’s shirt, lips moving against the fabric. “It’s your daddy. I just found out that you exist and I know you probably can’t even hear me, but I want you to know that I love you.”

It was Dean’s voice, so soft and gentle, that broke the spell of uncertainty and misery, and Sam felt something unclench in his chest.

“You’re right, it can’t hear you,” Sam replied quietly, smiling through his tears. His heart was racing against his ribcage and he felt his cheeks flush at the tender attention Dean paid to the tiny bundle inside his body. “It doesn’t even have ears yet.”

Dean shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered and pressed a warm, broad palm against his brother’s stomach, cupping the tiniest of swells there. “I’ll tell you every day when you’re finally here, okay?”

Sam laughed at that, a wet sound, choked by tears of relief. He had slid his hands around Dean’s neck, fingers toying with the short hair on the back of his brother’s head, and his weight rested on a set of broad, sturdy shoulders. With Sam looming over Dean, they kissed again, slow and leisurely until their lips tingled and their lungs pulled tight at the lack of oxygen.

“I love you,” Dean whispered as he brushed his thumb over Sam’s stomach before slowly standing up, pulling his little brother with him and against his chest.

“Did you mean me or the baby?” Sam asked, a little breathless still, feeling giddy and light-headed.

Dean grinned. “Both, actually,” he replied as he held Sam tight, arms slung around the lean, gangly body of his brother. Soon the bump would keep them apart in a position like that and for a while they both reveled in the closeness, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of the same whole, their mouths slotted together in a warm kiss.

“Hey Sam?”

“Mhh?”

“Thank you.”

Sam snorted. “For what? For getting knocked up? Hey man, all the kudos to you,” Sam replied, letting Dean press a path of kisses down his jawline.

“No, Sam. For telling me,” Dean muttered, his tone serious. “‘Cause I really want it, you know? I want that baby with you, Sam. You’re all I care about. You and the baby, you hear me? I love you.”

Sam’s voice was small and quiet when he replied. His head was tipped back by his brother’s hand and a shiver ran down his spine. “We love you too, Dean.”

They stood there in the middle of the room for a long while, kissing, caressing, Dean holding his little brother close to his chest, Sam’s hands combing through Dean’s hair as they kept making plans for the future. Their voices were only whispers, but loud enough for now. When they eventually let go, Sam was confident and filled with anticipation for all the things that were about to come.

“C’mon, Sammy. Let’s clean up the bathroom and then I’ll make us lunch,” Dean said as he strolled out of the bedroom with a grin.

Picking up the test and instructions from the sideboard, Sam smiled quietly to himself. He could get used to getting pampered.


	2. Chapter 2

For almost three long months it was easy to hide the forming bump under baggy shirts and thick layers of clothing. John wasn’t around much and if he happened to sit over his breakfast in the mornings or stumble into their motel rooms after weeks of absence, Sam always managed to hide the swell of his belly underneath one of Dean’s worn shirts or his old, beat-up sweater. 

Of course he had gotten bigger since the day he had taken the test, that much was obvious. But aside from the slightly rounded belly, not much had changed. Go figure. Around the second month he didn’t have to wear belts anymore, which was pleasant change from the usual, and now that the fourth month was approaching rapidly, people started to notice. Until one morning Sam shimmied into a pair of threadbare jeans only to discover that he couldn’t button them up anymore. 

“Shit,” he whispered, pulling the worn fabric tighter around the swell of his stomach, breathing in, yanking the zipper up, breathing out, pulling harder. But it was no use and the jeans stayed where they were, snug around his waist and unfastened. 

Sam was rummaging through Dean’s duffel bag in the hopes of finding something more loose to wear when his brother walked in from the bathroom, towel slung around his hips and skin rosy from a hot shower. 

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” he asked casually as he came to notice the steep crease between Sam’s brows. 

Sam snorted. “I’m looking for something I can fit my fat ass into, that’s what. Everything is too tight, Dean, I can’t even wear your old jeans anymore. Nothing fucking fits.” 

Walking over to his little brother, Dean smoothed a thumb over Sam’s furrowed brow, cupping his face. “Then we’ll go to the mall and find you something else, Sammy. No need to be upset.” 

“But I don’t wanna go to the mall,” Sam replied, sulking. “And how do you think we’re gonna pay for new clothes anyway? We’re broke.” 

After his monthly check with the gynecologist they would be short on money until Dad returned by the end of the week. 

But Dean only grinned, walking over to his jeans and fishing a battered piece of plastic out of the pockets. “Not quite.” 

“Fuck, Dean! You stole Dad’s credit card? Are you nuts?” Sam gasped, eyes going wide in shock. 

“Nah, it’s all good. He won’t notice, it’s the one with the messed-up numbers and he never uses that one,” Dean replied, shrugging. “So whaddaya say? Wanna skip school and go shopping with your big brother instead?” 

Sam pulled a face. “Not really. And you gotta stop talking like that while you’re wearing nothing but a towel, dude. You look like a creepy sugar daddy.” 

Dean’s laugh was booming when he charged at Sam, carefully avoiding the bump when he tackled his brother to the bed. He tickled his little brother until Sam couldn’t breathe anymore, gasping and giggling with mirth, and his cheeks were flushed with exertion by the time Dean lifted himself off Sam and sat back, buck naked, towel forgotten on the floor. 

“So,” Dean said, breathing uneven as he got off the bed to strut towards a pile of clothing. “What you’re saying is you want me to go and pick clothes for you?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.” 

“And you’ll be here doing what exactly?” 

“Waiting for you and probably taking a nap since  your baby kept me up all night,” Sam replied, sighing and resting a hand on the swell of his belly, cupping the bump. 

The smug expression on Dean’s face immediately melted into a soft, worried gaze. “Do you need me around, Sammy? I can stay.” 

“No, it’s all good. I’m just tired and lazy and don’t wanna walk around in a mall full of people right now.”

Dean finished throwing on some clean clothes before he walked up to his brother, sitting down on the edge of the motel bed. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam nodded, hitching up his sweater and pulling at Dean’s hand until the warm, broad palm rested on the bump. “We’re good, I promise. I just need some rest.” 

“Okay,” Dean muttered as he bent down to kiss the soft, smooth skin of his brother’s swollen belly. “Take it easy while I’m gone, okay? I won’t take long.” 

Rolling his eyes and combing his fingers through Dean’s damp hair, Sam nodded. “Sure, Dean. It’s all good; we’re perfectly fine and safe here.”

Dean smiled at that and after dropping a kiss on both Sam’s forehead and right below his belly button, he hauled himself off the bed and walked out into the sun, heading for the mall and leaving Sam to his much needed nap. 

When Sam blinked his eyes open three hours later he felt much more rested than in the morning. His limbs were pleasantly heavy and when he turned to take a look at his watch, he spotted a bunch of carefully placed plastic bags by the nightstand. He was about to call for Dean, when curiosity got the better of him and with a yawn he sat up, grabbing the bags and hauling all four of them up and onto the mattress. A sticky note was stuck to one of them and Sam read it with a smile. 

‘Took me forever to find these. Hope you like ‘em, kiddo. xx’ 

It didn’t take long to pull all the purchases from the bags and soon enough the bed was covered in new, clean clothes—and Sam was flat out gaping at his brother’s bold choices. With eyes bright as starlight, Sam stared in awe, fingers running carefully over the soft fabric of two pairs of pastel colored leggings and a few baggy shirts with frilly patterns and cute flowery designs. Everything was beautiful, unique and incredibly soft to the touch, making Sam want to put his new clothes on and never change again. 

Dean had chosen a warm, cozy sweater in hazelnut brown to replace the old, beat-up hoodie jacket, and had bought him two pairs of pregnancy pants, complete with a band of soft, elastic cottonwool fabric instead of a button and zipper, and with enough space to fit Sam’s swollen belly. A few pairs of socks with dumb smileys and puppies and ladybugs and polka dots on them--each of them high enough to reach Sam’s mid-thigh--lay scattered on top of a pair of, baggy gray sweatpants, and buried underneath it all Sam found two pairs of glossy-black panties, all silk and delicate lace. 

Sam didn’t even try to hide his excitement and let the pure delight that had been bubbling in his chest from the moment he spotted the bags come out in a booming laugh, loud enough to be heard next door where his brother was slacking off in front of the TV. 

It took Dean exactly twelve seconds to get up and bang the door open. He stopped short in the doorway, sporting an almost sheepish look on his face. He didn’t say anything, just hovered by the door, waiting, anxiously chewing on his lower lip until Sam spoke. 

“Dean, I don’t know what to say,” he started, voice crackling with wonder and gratitude as he brushed his fingers over the delicate fabric of the purchases. “This is crazy; have you gone bonkers? These must’ve cost you a fucking fortune!”

Dean shifted uneasily in the doorway. “So you like them?” 

“That’s not the point, dude. These shirts are… how much did you spend on them? They look really… they’re… do I even wanna know? And those panties, have you  seen them? They’re so soft and beautiful; why did you buy them? They’re too good,” 

“But you  do like them?” 

Sam gasped, fingers catching in the soft lace of said panties, playing with the silk. “Are you kidding me? I  love them, all of the clothes. They’re incredible. Dean, how did you know?” 

Sam watched the anxiety drain from Dean’s face before it was replaced with a bright, smug smile. Tension bled out of his stance and slowly he walked over to his brother, sitting next to him on the mattress. 

“I didn’t know, Sammy. I just thought you’d look great in them, so I bought them,” he replied with a shrug and gestured towards the clothes. “And they’re not too good, don’t be silly.”

“But Dean--” Sam started to object, only to be cut off by a pair of soft lips and a gentle, lazy kiss, both of them melting into the touch, their closeness, the familiar warmth between them. It was easy to let go, to fall into the confident, sure comfort Dean radiated, and when they pulled apart, Sam just nodded. There was still enough time to worry about money later.

“Thank you, Dean,” he whispered as he tipped their foreheads together, their breaths mingling between their faces and Dean nodding slowly, kissing Sam once again and brushing a gentle hand across the baby bump. 

Later that day, after Sam had taken a long, hot shower and they had arranged themselves on the small sofa in front of the TV, Dean pulled out another, smaller bag. 

“I found this while I was looking for your clothes,” he explained while handing Sam the package. “Walked right into it, really. Don’t know if you like it, but… well, I figured it’s worth a shot.” 

Sam wanted to protest again—already feeling spoiled enough for the rest of the year—but at the sight of Dean’s unsettled face he swallowed the words that threatened to fall from his lips. Grabbing the bag and reaching inside, he shot his brother an encouraging smile before pulling out a velvet-soft onesie, incredibly tiny and striped in different shades of green and teal. It had a tiny dinosaur with a toothy smile and glossy black eyes stitched on the front.

“So, uh, what do you think?” Dean asked into the silence, watching Sam closely. He was almost squirming in his seat, and only when he caught the first glimpse of the smile tugging on Sam’s lips did he let out the breath he was holding. 

“You’re the biggest sap in the universe, Dean Winchester,” Sam huffed out, shaking his head fondly and spreading the tiny suit on the swell of his belly until it fit snugly against the bump. 

Dean snorted. “I’m just providing, okay? They said you can never have too many of those things and I kinda liked it. Figured we might as well start early.”

“Well, I’m happy you bought it, then. I kinda like it too. Now c’mere and give me a kiss and let me make it up to you,” Sam replied and beckoned his brother closer, their bodies falling into each other as easily as puzzle pieces, mouths slotting together and eyes fluttering shut in utter contentment. 


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks later the swell of Sam’s belly was undeniable, the bump impossible to overlook. John hadn’t been around for a while and neither of the boys expected him to be back before the end of the week. Sam had been moody all day and after receiving a thorough backrub and a sloppy, wet blowjob, he had settled on the sofa to catch up on his research and to give his aching back a rest. Dean kept himself busy doing laundry and cleaning his weapons, and went out for groceries and to stock up on mint chocolate chip ice cream at sunset.

Sam was still on the couch and absorbed in his book when he heard a key being turned in the lock, followed by the scraping of heavy boots and some shuffling around in the hallway.

“Boys?” John’s voice sounded exhausted and Sam felt panic bloom in his chest. _Shitshitshitshitshit_. Pulling the blanket tighter around his form and placing the book strategically on top of his bump, Sam slumped deeper into the cushions. He was keenly aware of the fact that the thin shirt and baggy sweatpants did nothing to hide his swollen belly. But just like a deer caught in headlights he stayed put, even when John walked into the room with a frown.

“Sam,” he greeted, nodding towards his son. “Where’s Dean?”

Returning the nod, Sam pretended to keep reading. “He went for groceries half an hour ago; we were out of canned beans. Should be back soon, though. The store is right around the corner.”

John only grunted at that and shuffled over to the small kitchen, yanking the fridge open. He rummaged around for a few seconds and Sam had almost convinced himself that the nervous thrumming of his heart was just him overreacting.

The quiet pop of a bottle being uncapped rang through the silence, followed by the groaning of wood as John sat down at the kitchen table.

“Why are you lying on the sofa, Sam? Are you sick?”

Sam squirmed, terror blossoming again, shaking him down to the marrow of his bones. _Shitfuckingshitshit_.

“Um, well, kinda. I didn’t feel well today so I, uh, stayed at home. Did some research instead.”

John nodded at that, seemingly satisfied but still watching his youngest like a hawk.

“So what have you boys been up to while I was gone?” he asked after taking a long sip from the bottle.

Sam immediately knew that he was in trouble.

Dad never asked about their lives and never replied when they asked about his. They were bound by blood but led two entirely different lives. They could’ve been strangers and not a single thing would change—not how they barely spoke at all, not how they had stopped acting like a family years ago.

Trying to play it cool, Sam just shrugged. “Not much. The usual: school, hanging around. Dean took care of that jammed trigger on your Colt.”

John nodded and took another sip. He looked big and dark and sturdy from where Sam was seated on the sofa, the bulk of his body looming over the kitchen table as his fingers slowly spun the half-empty bottle.

“You seem different, Sam,” John continued after a while. Sam felt a shiver race down his spine and with it, his grip around the ancient script in his lap turned white-knuckled.

He swallowed hard. “Different? How?” His voice came out as a squeak.

John shrugged, still watching him intently, barely smiling and with dark shadows under his eyes. “I don’t know, you tell me,” he prompted.

Sam kept quiet and tried to stop his pulse from spiking, his heart racing frantically in his chest. He felt trapped and exposed, like prey in the face of a predator, torn between running and fighting.

“I saw Dean was using one of my credit cards. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?” John asked into the thick silence, and got up to get another beer, popping it open with a grunt.

Sam shrugged slightly. “Maybe the broken handle of his machete?”

“And he bought the spare parts for that where? In the store around the corner? C’mon Sam, that’s all you can come up with? You gotta at least try and give me a challenge,” John cut in, sounding half-amused.

“We had a shitload of laundry to do while you were away—”

“Language, Sam,” John cut in sharply before he took a deep breath and a long pull from the bottle. “Didn’t I teach you not to lie?”

“Yessir.”

“Well, then why are you lying to me, son? Someone spent a crapload of my money while I was getting my ass handed to me by a Wendigo. I want to know what’s going on.”

Biting his lower lip, Sam regarded his father with a frown. “Well, technically it’s not even your money, Dad. The credit card is fake, right?”

“Don’t try to outsmart me, young man,” John replied with a sneer, clutching the bottle harder. “The truth, Sam, that’s all I’m asking for. Dean might be not the smartest boy, but even he’s not stupid enough to steal my credit card for something that’s not important. So come on, spill.”

Sam could hear his teeth grinding the second the words ‘ _Dean_ ’ and ‘ _stupid_ ’ were out of John’s mouth, his ears turning pink with rage.

“He is smart,” Sam growled lowly. John dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“Who? Dean? Don’t try to change the subject, Sammy. Won’t work. We both know Dean doesn’t have your brains. He lacks creativity and purposefulness. He’s more of a guns and fists type of guy.”

Sam could feel the anger coming in waves now, frustration clawing its way out of the pit of his stomach and tearing at his throat. It was roaring and ugly and black as tar.

“He’s good in a fight, I’ll give him that,” John rambled on, seemingly unaware of Sam’s distress. “But he’s easily distracted and undisciplined. He doesn’t use his head and jumps into the action too quickly. That’s dangerous and foolish, and you know it, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t even remember scrambling to his feet, but suddenly he was up and already a few steps into the kitchen, right up in his father’s brooding face.

“Stop it! Stop that! Stop talking about him like that! You have no right, you hear me? You’ve no right to judge him like that. Dean is smart—he’s a fucking genius and he’s more disciplined than me or you or any other hunter will ever be. You… you don’t know him; you don’t even know your own son!” Sam yelled, voice loud and booming as it bounced off the kitchen walls.

“You taught him how to be a hunter and he became a hunter. Not for himself, not for me, he did it for you. And the only thing you have to give him in return is spite and scorn and bitter promises you never intended to keep.”

Sam was dimly aware of the deafening silence when he took a breath, and his father’s eyes almost popping out of their sockets as they flicked to the bump of his belly as if to measure it.

But something told Sam to keep going, and reaching for the deeply rooted frustration, he went on.

“You made him a soldier, and he half-believes that one day you’ll love him if he only works hard enough. And until then he keeps shooting the bad guys for you and heeds your every order, regardless of how dismissive you’ll be of his skill, obedience and sacrifice. But whatever he does he’ll never be good enough, right? Just your sad little puppet, the broken toy you’re willing to toss away in favor of a new, shiny plaything.”

“And you know what? I’m done, dad, I’m done watching this happen and I won’t stand for it any longer. You might be my father, but you’re not my family. Dean is. And he’s the only one who gets to call me Sammy.”

During Sam’s speech, John had gone pale as a sheet. With all color drained from his face and his hands stilling against the spinning bottle, he suddenly looked thin and impossibly tired.

“Sam, what happened to you?” he asked into the settling silence. He was seemingly completely unfazed by his son’s words and the burning righteous wrath that had gathered in the pit of Sam’s stomach.

Sam’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean what happened to me? Did you even listen to what I was saying?”

John shrugged the comment off easily. Pushing back from the table, he shuffled to his feet with a grunt. His eyes, however, were still glued to the curve of Sam’s belly.

“Sam, answer my question: Who did this to you? Was it someone at school? Did someone… hurt you?”

Sam knew all his life that his father was a tall man, broad and built like brick shithouse, with squared shoulders and big, bulging muscles. But something in the way he was holding himself in this very moment, jaw clenched and fingers curled into hard, angular fists, made Sam’s breath hitch in his throat.

“What do you mean? I… no one hurt me,” he stammered as his hands came to cup the swell of his belly. “No one did this to me, okay? It’s not like I have the plague, I’m just—”

“Pregnant,” John cut in, voice even and steely and angry. “I can see that, Sam. But I want to know who did it? Who knocked you up?”

Sam swallowed hard. A thrilling ache was flaring through him like wildfire, launching adrenaline through his veins and pushing blood into his cheeks with aggressive force. His pulse was skyrocketing and there was a nagging thrum in his chest. It was fear; a sudden, overwhelming panic that flooded his system, impossibly fast and infinitely purer than anything he’d ever felt, a thick, impenetrable blanket of sheer horror that made him gasp. Fear. Not for him, but for the unborn, innocent life inside his womb.

Cradling his arms around his belly, Sam staggered backwards until the backs of his knees bumped into the sofa.

“Sam,” John asked again. “Tell me who did it!”

Silence.

John ground his teeth and the next time he spoke was all threat. “Sam Winchester, you’re my son and you owe me the truth. Who did it?”

“I don’t owe you shit,” Sam mumbled, and the same moment the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he wished he would’ve swallowed them.

John was in Sam’s space within the blink of an eye, his grip vice-like where he seized his son’s upper arm. His eyes were almost black in the soft light, glassy and frantic as he measured the tall boy with a wild gaze before yanking him around.

“You owe me your life!”

“Dean was the one who carried me out of the fire!”

For a split second John looked like he was about to lose his composure and the grip around Sam’s arm became impossible tighter, probably bruising the skin, and crushing the bicep painfully. He was still big and broad and angry and Sam had never in his life felt so scared.

“Who was it, Sam?” John then bellowed. “Who did it? Who fucking did it? Tell me!”

“Me.” A voice from the other end of the room made John jerk around, pulling Sam along like a ragdoll. “It was me, Dad.”

Neither of them had heard Dean come in and now that he stood in the doorway, trembling hands still clutching a brown paper bag and eyes wide in distress, Sam could feel the fight drain from his body, leaving him limp and exhausted.

John’s grip faltered. “What?”

“It’s was me. I’m the father of Sam’s baby,” Dean repeated. The look of fierce determination did nothing to conceal the anxious quivering of his bottom lip.  

For one terrible moment it seemed John would lash out again, then he let go of Sam and quietly stalked over to the kitchen table, sinking down onto the single chair.

“What?” he mumbled in confusion, fingers now buried in his dark locks and eyes flitting between his two sons as if he was trying to make some sort of sense of the whole situation.

Dean was next to Sam with two large steps, hands coming up to curl around his brother’s shoulders to steady him on his swaying feet. Sam felt like someone had pulled the literal rug out from under his feet and was grateful for Dean’s broad, sturdy form to lean on. With a sigh he let himself fall into the offered warmth, seeking comfort and footing.

John was still raking his fingers through his hair when he opened his mouth again on a question, voice now gravelly and sinister. “How long?”

“Two years,” Dean replied without hesitation, gentle fingers curling into the sore flesh of Sam’s shoulder, stroking soothingly.

John nodded. “I understand,” he mumbled before taking a long pull out of the beer bottle, emptying it in one go. “And you want that, Sam? Want your brother like that?”

Sam flinched at the poorly hidden disgust in John’s words and curling further into Dean’s body he extended his chin in a defiant manner. “Yes, of course.”

“Of course,” John repeated incredulously. “Well then things are just peachy for you two now, huh? So what’s the plan? Are you gonna keep it?”

Their answer came in unison, loud and clear in the unnerving silence of the motel room. “Yes.”

John swallowed and his grip around the beer bottle turned white-knuckled, eyes going dim with grief and regret. “I should’ve known,” he mumbled after a few beats. “Should’ve known you were fucking around behind my back. It was just too easy, wasn’t it? Maybe I did know; maybe I just didn’t want to see.”

Sam felt a small tremor running through Dean’s body. He was pale as a sheet, both of them still shaken by the recent events, and suddenly Sam was terrified of the future again.

“Was easier to look the other way,” John went on before burying his face in his hands. “Truth is, I didn’t want to know, always thought not Sam and Dean. Not my boys... Maybe I shouldn’t have been away all the time? Shoulda stayed for a birthday once or twice.”

Dean was about to say something, but Sam’s stern voice beat him to it. “Well, it’s too late for that now. But if it makes you feel any better about yourself: I didn’t choose Dean because I was lonely and he was available. I want him because he’s the only one for me and I love him. And he’ll be a much better father than you ever were.”

When John looked up again, his face was blank. “Whatcha gonna do now?”

“We’ll leave.” It was Dean who spoke, and if he was still reeling from the events unwinding in front of him he didn’t let it show. His voice was unwavering. “Sam and I, we’ll stop hunting and raise the child together. Like a real family. I saved some money over the years. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

John didn’t put up a fight like Sam had expected him to do, didn’t even flinch at Dean’s words. He just stood with a harsh sigh instead, brushing the imaginary dust from his clothes before grabbing two more bottles of beer out of the fridge.

“Make sure you’re gone by the time I get back,” he grunted as he walked into the hallway. “If you’re still here in the morning, I’ll call the police.”

And just like that he was gone, the sound of the door falling into the lock loud in the deafening silence of the suddenly painfully empty motel room.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam didn’t remember much about what happened next. After John had left, things became a little fuzzy and for a long time it felt like Sam he was trudging through a swamp, his mind clouded by hastily spoken words and the feeling of falling. He remembered standing there in the motel kitchen, Dean holding him firmly against his side, shaking, and the hearts in their chests racing each other as understanding dawned on them. And how they were clinging to each other with wide, doe-like eyes and on wobbly, unsure knees, the truth ringing in their ears: they were finally free. 

Eventually they had moved out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, throwing their meager belongings into their duffel bags and plundering the fridge of the leftovers and what little they could carry. Dean had hired them a taxi and they had driven all the way to the next town to the bus station. Sitting and waiting for the bus in the dead of night had turned into a real test for their patience and once they were seated in the last row of the old, rattling vehicle, Sam had immediately fallen asleep, head in Dean’s lap and hands softly cradling his belly. 

After what felt like a moment and an age they had dropped off the bus and the following three weeks where spent in gray motel rooms, between gray sheets, under gray clouds, in a world that seemed drained of all color. Hours felt like days, days like years when Sam sat alone on the mattress, worrying and hoping and falling asleep alone long before Dean returned into their sleazy motel room. For three weeks the rain didn’t stop and when Sam finally saw the sun again he felt like he wanted to cry. 

It was on a Tuesday when Dean came home in the early afternoon and with a pile of paperwork clutched against his chest. A huge grin plastered on his face, he dropped the papers in Sam’s lap. 

“I found it,” he announced as he flopped down next to his brother. 

Sam shot him a quizzical look. 

“Don’t gimme that look, lil bro, I found it.” 

“Found what, Dean?” 

Gathering the papers again and pressing them into Sam’s hands more pointedly, Dean snorted out a laugh. “I found our new home, of course. It’s in Whitewater, a few miles away from here. Small town, just a few folks around. The agent said it’s not in the best condition, but it has three bedrooms and a big backyard. Enough space for, you know, the little one to play in.”

Sam felt his toes prickle, and halting his breath, he took a closer look. 

“There are a few photos, though I think they’re a little out of date.” Dean pointed at the old fashioned car in the driveway in the picture and then chuckled. His eyes were alight with a spark Sam hadn’t seen in forever and he was still grinning, his cheeks going rosy from the lasting, deeply satisfied smirk. 

It took Sam a moment to gather his thoughts. The photos showed a small cottage, complete with dingy white-wash and incredibly corny window shutters. The shingles on the roof were bright red and dog roses bloomed in the hedges around the front porch. Blue mountains with white caps loomed in the background and the vast endlessness of a lush, green pine forest was stretching up the slopes. Clouds like cotton wool were floating high above the chimney in an endlessly azure sky and the clear, fresh water of a small river was streaming down its bed next to the dirt road. 

“What do you say, Sammy?” 

Blinking rapidly, Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, there’s no way we can possibly afford a house like that. Not with the baby. I can’t work--”

“Always looking on the bright side of the things, huh?” Dean chimed in, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Don’t fret, okay? I made a deal with the agent: first three months, we pay half the rent, until we’re all settled in and I’ve found a decent job in town. I gotta fix a few things around the roof and porch myself, though, and there’s no water heater installed yet, but it’ll be fine. Summer’s coming and by the time you’re due, it’ll all work out.”

Sam was still reeling from the revelation and with a deep sigh, he inched closer to his brother’s vibrating body. “Dean, I admire your enthusiasm, I really do. But are we sure we can make it? We’ve only saved so much money and in less than two months I won’t even be able to see my own toes.” 

The smile on Dean’s face became impossibly wider. “I can’t wait to see you try to get into those sneakers you love so much then, kiddo.” 

“Dean, please—”

“Oh come on Sam, don’t be such a wuss. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. Look at the photos, look at the house. It’s waiting for us, Sam. We can have a real home, with a real kitchen and a backyard. A place to live, a place to… to be a family. A real family. This house is the perfect place to start a new life, and it’s all yours if you want it.” 

Letting out a long breath, Sam closed his stinging eyes before climbing into his brother’s lap. His mouth opened on a confession as he pressed his trembling lips against the gentle curve of Dean’s jaw. 

“I’m scared, Dean.” 

“Yeah, Sam, me too. But I promise you it’s gonna be alright. We’ll be fine, and we’ll have a good life. We’ll make it good.”

It turned out that Dean was perfectly right. 

The following day they drove up to Whitewater, Montana to sign the contract for their little cottage and when they saw it for the first time, nestled between trees and the red shingles glinting from the rain, Sam had to press his face into the crook of his arm to hide the tears of happiness that spilled down his cheeks, soaking his sleeve. 

Shreds of mist were steaming out of the forest. Tiny dots of tender pink and delicate white showed between the hedges, and the smell of damp moss and the gentle tap-tap of the rain against the windows welcomed them as they stepped over the threshold, fingers intertwined and hearts fluttering away in the light breeze. 

“Welcome home, Sammy,” Dean muttered and Sam kissed his brother right then, right there in the doorway, halfway into their new life and with lips that were sticky with tears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually not one to give out warnings in a story that's already flagged explicit, but just cause it doesn't tickle everyone's fancy: The follow chapter includes sex with a pregnant person—Sammy gets some. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Dust. Dust everywhere. On the wooden floor, the sparse furniture, the window sills. Dust on the staircase leading onto the first floor, clinging to the creaking planks and caking Sam’s sneakers. Dust like flour, thick and sticky, and dust that whirled around when Dean pushed doors and windows open, tiny specks of dirt that danced in the light like memories of a time long lost. It made the air taste stale, and Sam sneezed when he stepped into the bathroom, inspecting the old-fashioned lion-claw bathtub and the blind mirror on the wall.

“I can see into the backyard from here!” Dean shouted from somewhere. “I feel like this should be the nursery.”

Sam smiled at that—sobbed and smiled—and opened the tiny skylight to let in some of the fresh, clean mountain air before trailing back down into the basement. He could hear the gurgling sound of water drifting in from the stream on the other side of the street and somehow found himself unable to brush the smudged remains of the smile from his lips. His chest felt like it might burst.

The kitchen was big enough, with an antique green-tiled stove tucked into the corner and a bunch of cupboards hanging from the cracked walls. There was no table, not a stool to sit on, and a fridge was nowhere to be seen. A window in the living room was splintered and the floor panels groaned and creaked under Sam’s weight. Dust clung to the wooden counters and the sink was filled with nasty brown water, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care. His heart was racing like a rabbit in his chest, fluttering, dancing with the dust in feverish joy and all he could was not to burst in a million pieces at the thought of spending a lifetime here. With Dean and their little miracle. As a family.

They spent the first night in their new home on an air mattress downstairs. Dean had summoned enough blankets to build them a warm nest, using a bunch of sweaters as pillows. Two sleeping bags were good enough to huddle together under. They had ordered in from a small pizza place down the street and shared a bag of Doritos afterward. Sam hadn’t dared to shower with the dead cold water and had already been curled into a ball of content warmth when Dean returned from upstairs, towel slung around his hips and hair dripping wet.

“Gonna let me in?” he asked, tapping his bare toe against Sam’s calf to nudge him gently.

Sam sighed, stifled a yawn, and rolled over with a small grunt. “How was the shower?”

“Pretty good actually, if you ignore the fact that the water smells a bit like rust and that you let a bat in when you opened the window earlier.”

Sam gasped. “Are you serious? Shit, I’m sorry,”

“Nah, it’s all good. Got her out pretty quickly; I think we were both equally startled when I turned on the light. By the way, did you hear the generator start up?”

Tucking Dean’s cold, damp feet into the bend of his knees, Sam shivered despite the layers of blankets. “Nah man, the only thing I heard was the sound of rusty pipes and gurgling water rattling through the walls as soon as you turned the knob upstairs.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Well, I guess there’s still a fuckton of things to do, huh?” he snickered, crushing Sam against his chest before dropping a kiss on top of Sam’s head. “We’ll work it out though, Sammy. Just you wait.”

Shuddering out a breath, Sam nodded and swallowed the feeling of his heart being too big for his chest. “Yeah, I know, Dean. You and me, we’re gonna make this house a home, right?”

“You bet, babe.”

They fell asleep like that, entangled with each other and their breaths mingling on the makeshift pillow. The forest sung them a lullaby and a symphony of crickets chirped until long after midnight. Moonlight was spilling through the cracked windows and it seemed like the house was breathing in, sighing in sync with the wind that kept rustling in the nearby tree tops.

Sam didn’t remember his dreams when he woke up in the morning, but his body was sure reminding him of every crack in the floor, every little bump he had slept on. Dean was already up and working soundly somewhere upstairs, “Highway Star” blaring from the small radio they had brought along with them.

Grabbing a carefully placed plastic mug and sniffing, Sam was pleased to find it to be herbal tea,  next to a bag full of bagels next to their little den. So this was going to be their life now: calm, domestic, away from the terror they had grown up in, with lazy mornings in golden sunlight and the sound of birds filling the air. Yes, he could live with that.

Liberating the house from all the dust turned out to be a task taking five days worth of work and would be forever described by both brothers as their worst nightmares come true, a fate worse than Sisyphos’. The dirt was literally everywhere, in every crack, every hole, every dent in the walls. It had gotten stuck inside the cupboards, populated the tiles and collected in every single corner. On their first day they walked into town to get cleaning supplies: brooms, rags bigger than Sam’s entire face and enough cleaning agent to supply an whole army’s worth of hotel staff. Little did they know that they had to return by the end of the week to spend another stack of their carefully saved money, this time bringing enough abrasive detergent to scrub not only the bathroom and kitchen but also the dirt-crusted windows and the door frames, the staircase and the thoroughly sooty stove.

Over the course of the days, Dean had found a pile of chopped wood in the shrubbery behind the house and on their third evening they were able to spark a blistering fire inside the bowels of the stove. Together they watched hungry yellow and orange flames lick greedily along the dry logs, the warmth shooing away the early spring’s cold and filling the basement with the smell of resin.

During those days, they lived out of their duffel bags and ate out of cardboard containers: pizza, greasy fries, burgers with soppy buns, sandwiches. And when one night Sam craved pickles Dean provided them without complaining, smiling victoriously when he charged to the front door at 2am, plastic bag dangling from his wrist and jar of pickles in his hand.

At the end of every day they took a quick shower under an icy cold spray before huddling up in front of the stove, talking quietly about their plans, the money, the future. On Wednesday morning they took the bus and drove all the way to Glasgow to purchase pans, pots, cutlery and a few cups and plates from a second-hand store. They got away with much more than initially anticipated and the owner of the store—a middle-aged woman with yellow teeth and lush ginger locks—gave them a set of glasses and the world’s most hideous salad bowl for free. Dean picked up an ungodly amount of screws, and miscellaneous metalworks from the do-it-yourself store next door to add to his collection at home and to complete the tool box he’d gotten from a farmworker down the road back home in Whitewater.

Thursday was laundry day and around noon a bunch of jeans, tees and sweaters were strung on a cord all across their backyard. The sun was shy but warm enough, and a fresh breeze blew the clean clothing until it was all dry by sunset.

Sam was not entirely sure how they had managed, but by the end of the week they had rid the house of all dust, even the inches thick layer in the attic. The windows were squeaky clean and Dean had fixed the creaking hinges of every shutter he could find. The backyard was still a mess and the white-wash on the porch was a poor excuse for its kind, but the roof didn’t leak into one of the bedrooms anymore and the stale scent of a house being left on its own for far too long had given way to the fresh smell of resin and polished wood.

Dean had seen a man in town twice to ask for a job and on Saturday morning he got the long anticipated call. A huge truck had just plunged a load of previously ordered wood planks into their driveway when Dean’s cellphone rang and the voice on the other end offered him a job at a small garage in town. It wasn’t a big deal, but it was an opportunity to gain a foothold and earn some desperately needed money.

Hugging Sam tightly, Dean let loose a booming laugh after ending the call and started to dance across the overgrown lawn, his brother pinned to his chest and face buried in Sam’s hair. Sure they were short on money and with the ordered wood the rest of their sparsely gathered money had melted away like ice in a desert, but with a job and little bit of luck, they would be able to afford the much needed water heater by the end of the month, along with some actual furniture and a real mattress to replace their makeshift nest in the center of the living room.

Hours turned into days and together they kept working relentlessly around the house. Sam only rested when Dean wouldn’t let him lift a single finger anymore and when he did sit down, he made long lists, calculated their money and wrote down notes and plans for every room. He patched Dean’s ripped shirts together, made them scrambled eggs and bacon or sat in the sun, reading about gardening or giving birth, feet dangling from the porch and brushing the wild hedges.

With a job at his hands and still so much to fix around the house, Dean was busier than usual, and Sam caught himself missing his brother’s dorky comments and blaring music more often. The house was quiet when Dean wasn’t around and when he did return from the garage—hair smelling like motor oil and grease smudged across his cheeks—Sam was grateful for his brother’s relentless chatter and the loud curses he spat when he jumped under the cold shower.

The nights were long and quiet in Whitewater, Montana. Sam had grown fond of the crickets’ obnoxiously loud chirping and the wind howling up the slopes. He had fallen in love with the wide, velvet-black sky, and on some nights, when the tiny bundle inside him wouldn’t stop kicking and tossing, Sam walked out into the cool night air. Standing on the porch, he stared up at the stars, counting them and talking softly to the little miracle that grew below his heart, thumbs brushing gently across the bump he cradled.

Sam could tell he had grown quite big over the past weeks. He already had difficulties reaching down and seeing his feet. Walking had become increasingly more exhausting and the baby grew heavier every day, leaving Sam with crippling back pain more often than he cared to admit. He had gained a whole lot of water weight and in the mornings he needed an eternity and a half to get his engines going.

But in those moments, when Sam stood on the front porch under a silent moon, in awe of the stars and the vast endlessness of the universe they had been born into, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the life inside the bump he was cradling and the tiny, fragile heart that was beating inside him, growing stronger everyday and soon to be ready to meet the world.

 ♦ 

Exactly two weeks after they had taken their first steps across the cottage’s threshold, Sam woke up to the sound of “Child in Time” playing upstairs, the music accompanied by wild hammering and the sound of something grinding against wood. Thumping noises, the brush of panels against sandpaper and the smell of tangy resin mingled with Sam’s still hazy mind, forming a lot of questions in his head which he currently was at a loss to answer.

It had become part of Sam’s daily routine to be stirred awake to the sounds of Dean working around the house, but today it felt different, bigger. Clambering up and stretching with a yawn, Sam managed to step into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy shirt before he heard Dean barreling down the stairs.

“Morning little brother,” he greeted with a smile when he spotted Sam. “How did you sleep?”

With sawdust covering the bridge of his nose and his cheeks flushed with exertion, Dean looked worked-up and quite frankly ridiculous. Ridiculously attractive Sam had to admit, and with another yawn he walked over to his brother.

“Dean, what are you doing up there?” he asked quietly, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of Dean’s threadbare jeans.

Dean grinned. “Working on a surprise, Sammy, whaddaya think I’m doing?” His skin was covered in a thin layer of shredded wood and tiny pearls of sweat prickled out of his hairline, drawing lines into the dust down his temples. He was warm and vibrant under Sam’s touch, frisky like a child when he leaned in to press a row of tickling kisses along Sam’s jaw line.

“You smell like timber and wood oil,” Sam remarked as his nose brushed his brother’s hair, breathing in. “Do you want me to help you?”

Dean snorted. “What kind of a surprise would it be if I were to let you help me, huh? Nah dude, this is my project.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulders before wandering off into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“How about you take a day off, Sammy? Just you and the baby, having some nice quality time together while I finish what I started upstairs. In fact, I’d rather have you out of the house because of the stench, and the weather is so nice and sunny. You could sit outside and read some, like the nerd you are.”

Instead of an actual answer, Sam just shrugged and sucked in his bottom lip to thoughtfully chew on it. Truth was, his back was aching more than usual after helping Dean polish the upstairs floors for the past several days. He felt exhausted despite a full night of sleep and his fingers hurt from scrubbing sandpaper against solid wood panels for hours on end.

“I dunno, Dean,” he sat finally as he watched his brother gulp down his coffee greedily.

“Don’t think about it too much, babe, just say yes and move your sweet ass outside. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Sam grunted. “That’s not the point Dean, but I feel like an invalid already and it’s kinda rude to leave all the work to you, you know?”

Plunging his cup in the sink, Dean finished his break. “Just do it for our little miracle, okay? You two both need a break and I won’t risk anything just because my brother is a stubborn lil’ brat.” He brushed a careful hand across Sam’s bump, cupping the swell lovingly.

“Go ahead Sammy, give it a rest, yeah? I’ll be done by the end of the day and unless it’s an emergency I don’t wanna see you inside the house until then!”

Pouting, Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And what if it starts raining?”

“Well,” Dean replied, grinning mischieviously, “we have a porch, right?” And with that he ducked out of the way and was already halfway up the stairs again when Sam blinked out of his trance.

“You suck!” Sam yelled after him, but Dean just laughed and was out of sight seconds later.

“Ass,” Sam muttered to himself as he grabbed two bottles of water from the cupboard and a bag of baby carrots from the counter. The weather outside did look lovely and armed with a few blankets and a bunch of books and magazines, Sam walked out of the door and into the backyard.

He sat down in the shadow of an old oak tree and started reading right away. The grass was pleasantly soft beneath the blanket and soon Sam was caught up in his lecture. A gentle breeze was whispering around the cottage’s corners and a bunch of starlings chatted idly in the treetops. It was a perfectly peaceful scene and Sam didn’t notice how time flew by as he nibbled on baby carrots and chugged down big gulps of water. The baby was moving lazily and Sam soothed it with gentle touches and a low, soft voice whenever he felt was necessary.

Around noon he got up to make a bunch of cucumber sandwiches and grab some more water to stay hydrated. But once in the kitchen he decided to heat a bowl of pasta from the leftovers in the newly acquired fridge and make some iced tea, too. He chose Dean’s favorite flavor, and once he was done with the preparation, he could hear Dean walking down the stairs, arms full with small pieces of seemingly spare panels and hands dark with wood polish.

“I made you lunch,” Sam explained as he filled a bowl with pasta, finishing the ice tea with two teaspoons of sugar. “You hungry?”

“You’re an angel, Sammy,” Dean replied. He vanished behind the front door for a second and when he came back he grabbed Sam around the waist, kissing him soundly on the cheek.

“How’s you relaxing day going, huh? My two favorites having fun outside?”

Sam nodded and then laughed at Dean’s attempt to kiss him with dirty lips. “Get off me,” he said and tried to playfully squirm away from Dean’s greasy hands but only ended up even closer to his brother, their mouths slotting together for a sweet, lazy kiss. They bantered around for another while before Dean grabbed his food and the tea after ushering Sam outside again. Sam smiled quietly as he wandered off to his spot under the oak tree once more, because it should’ve felt weird and foreign, this whole domestic life, but instead it was rich and comfortable and perfect.

The afternoon was spent pretty much in the same manner as in the morning: lazy and relaxed in the shy spring sun, with a blanket wrapped around his bump and his back comfortably seated against the oak tree’s withered bark. At some point Sam must had fallen asleep over the flood of magazines he was going through because eventually Dean’s loud voice startled him awake. The sun was already about to set, and Dean was waving out of the bedroom window, face still covered in sawdust and sweat.

“Hey lazybones,” he yelled and shot his brother a toothy grin. “If your highness is done with your beauty sleep, would you consider coming inside to get dressed?”

Yawning, Sam stretched his back. “Get dressed for what?”

“Dinner of course,” Dean replied casually and his smile became impossibly wider.

“Dinner?” Sam repeated incredulously. “Why should I get dressed for heating leftovers and sprucing up yesterday’s salad?”

Dean just rolled his eyes at that and shook his head. “Sometimes you’re awfully slow, baby.”

Dean took his brother out for dinner that night. After they both washed-up and had slipped into some more presentable clothes, they walked the small street to a small diner downtown. Dean had reserved them a booth in the back, and ordered milkshakes for both of them before they picked their meals.

“Why?” Sam asked after he had ordered a Cesar Salad and a burger.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, do I have to have a reason?” He had chosen the chili cheese fries over the bacon-wrapped steak and was currently reaching for one of Sam’s hands. He laced their fingers together.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Sam replied and looked at their hands and Dean’s face and then their hands again. They were resting on the tabletop, openly, for everyone to see. And yet Sam didn’t feel the familiar sting of uneasiness. To the contrary, he was completely relaxed and smiled quietly at the gentle tingle in his fingertips wherever he and Dean touched.

“I just wanted us to have a nice evening and some good food,” Dean explained, and answered the shy curl of Sam’s lips with a smirk of his own. “Besides, yesterday I got my very first paycheck and what else am I gonna do with it but take my hungry little brother out for dinner?”

“I’m eating for two,” Sam exclaimed and gave his brother’s hand a squeeze before he leaned back into the soft cushions of the booth, rubbing his belly. “That’s awesome, though, Dean. I’m proud of you. Really.”

They kept talking about the house and work until a friendly waitress handed them their plates and another round of creamy milkshakes. The food looked delicious and both brother’s laughed at the loud rumble Sam’s stomach gave at the sight.

“Enjoy,” Dean offered with a wink and then there was silence, only the clattering of their forks against the plates and the occasional approving grunt filling the air between them. Dean shared some of his fries with Sam and Sam fed his big brother pieces of burger until they were both stuffed to the brim and unable to swallow another bite of the greasy food. They shared the last sip of Dean’s vanilla milkshake and then Dean told the story of the time Sam wanted to play superheroes and broke his arm. Across the tabletop, their hands had joined together again in a loose hold and Dean kept brushing his fingers across Sam’s wrist as they talked and laughed. Quiet music was playing in the background whenever a guest decided to feed the jukebox some coins and when the clock hand was ticking towards midnight, Dean got up to choose a song from the collection himself.

The first tones of The Cure’s “Lovesong” started to waft through the thick, warm air inside the diner and Dean approached the table with a small, vulnerable grin.

“C’mon Sam,” he said quietly and with one hand extended to his brother. Sam was still sitting in the booth and from where he was pressed against the cushions he could see the blush on Dean’s cheeks and the nervous quiver of his lip.

“Dean, I’m not—”

“No talking back this time, baby.” Dean butted in before Sam could voice any concern of his own. “Just… please. Just tonight. For me?”

And that’s when Sam didn’t want to say no anymore because no matter how odd he felt, how unsexy he looked with his big, swollen belly and his plump waddling gait, this was Dean asking him to dance and he felt his heart pick up speed at the thought. He got up with a smile and there was an urgency in the way Dean clasped his hand around Sam’s when he led him to the small dancing area in front of the juke box.

“Are you okay with this?” Dean asked quietly over the music as he pulled his little brother closer with such loving care that the corners of Sam’s eyes stung with tears. Dean had always been tender with him but since he had gotten pregnant, his brother’s hands had turned impossibly more gentle, his touch so soft around Sam’s middle.

“Yes, Dean,” Sam mumbled against his brother’s ear. “I’m okay with dancing with you.”

And then Sam felt like he was flying. With his arms securely wrapped around Dean’s neck, Sam was being held in the gentle embrace of the man he had chosen to love for the rest of his life, and for a while time seemed to slow down around them. The music was flowing lightly and their bodies moved together, slowly, carefully, like the moment was fleeting and fragile as they swayed back and forth. Dean was mouthing along with the lines and after a few steps Sam didn’t feel clumsy or awkward anymore. In fact, he didn’t even think about his huge bump or the way his feet padded loudly against the floor, only listened to Dean’s voice and followed his lead instead, leaning against his brother’s body until he could bury his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Thank you,” he said and Dean nodded and kept on dancing with him, only the two of them in the tiny diner in Whitewater, Montana in the middle of the night.

 ♦ 

“You wanna see your surprise?” Dean asked as they stepped over the threshold of their cottage and Sam shot him quizzical look.

“What do you think, jerk?” They had been walking all the way up to their property and pearls of sweat were clinging to Sam’s forehead, glistening in the overhead lights.

Dean snickered, and after taking Sam’s hand he led him upstairs, only stopping once they stood in front of their future bedroom.

“Close your eyes,” he demanded and Sam huffed out a laugh but did what he was told. Together they stepped inside and when Dean turned on the lights, Sam couldn’t resist peeking and—

“What the fuck… Dean!” Sam yelled and felt his mouth fall open at the sight of a king-sized bed in the middle of the room, complete with headboard and a thick, comfortable looking mattress. The whole thing was made of caramel-colored wood, polished and cut with steady, expert hands. A few throw pillows and a pair of white sheets were finishing the perfect dwelling place and Sam had to scrub a hand across his face and look again to make sure that this was real.

“That’s what you were doing up here? You made us a bed?” he exclaimed and his voice sounded high-pitched, almost offended. He had no idea his brother was adept at carpentry.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s all I could do to not let you guys sleep on the floor anymore. I know your back is killing you, Sam.”

There was something else Dean was about to say, but Sam simply drowned it in the kiss he placed on his brother’s mouth, their lips slotting together easily. “It’s perfect, Dean,” Sam whispered against Dean’s lips before licking behind his brother’s teeth for a taste.

“You wanna try it out?” Dean asked when they pulled apart as he pressed a row of warm kisses down Sam’s throat, tilting his head back until his tender neck was exposed.

Sam moaned and the sound made Dean’s cock stir in his pants, his heart rate picking up speed. “Then let’s get you naked,” he breathed and briefly scraped his teeth across Sam’s pulse point.

“Yes please,” Sam whined and let his brother lead him to the waiting bed.

Their kisses were wet and desperate that night, their bodies pliant, tongues and limbs a sloppy mess as they crashed into the sheets. It had been so long, felt like an eternity. The moving around, the motel beds, the uncertainty, the long wait—it all had been like an invisible wall between them and now in the privacy of their own bed the illusion of false boundaries came crumbling down around them. They couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough, and even after they’d stripped each other bare, Sam kept clawing at Dean’s skin like he was trying to mark him. Dean grinned at Sam’s feverish attempts to stake a claim and Sam let out a long, needy moan as he let himself be flipped over, ass up in the air and knees digging into the mattress. He didn’t mind the heavy belly that hung between his spread legs and neither did Dean as he laid a trail of kisses down his brother’s spine.

“Missed this,” Dean growled and Sam nodded, whimpering into the pillow. He was already panting, ready to get fucked and needy for some release. His cock was hard between his quivering thighs and god, how he wanted— _needed_.

“C’mon, Dean,” he whined and then jerked as he felt Dean pull his cheeks apart before he leaned in to lick a slow stripe across Sam’s pink rim. Sam cursed and felt his hips buck, then pushed back until that hot, wet part of Dean fucked into him to get him all loose and responsive. And it didn’t matter that at this point Sam was practically begging for Dean’s cock, that he was moaning into the pillow like a whore, loud enough to be heard in the backyard. Everything seemed to narrow down to their moving bodies, their hands finding each other, Dean’s face pushed into the crack of Sam’s ass and licking away at the wet, warm flesh.

Sam didn’t have to ask “Finger me?” but the words tasted so sweet on his tongue and now it was Dean’s turn to curse and then comply. He took his time just because he liked to tease his brother and because it had been so long, and only added a second finger when Sam asked him with a voice raw in his throat.

“Easy, baby,” Dean mumbled as he kept rocking into Sam. His tongue was still licking around the pink rim, keeping it wet and sloppy while searching for that one spot where Sam was all slick and needy. Dean knew he’d found it when his brother splattered the sheets with hot, white ropes of come as a sudden orgam tore through Sam like wildfire. His legs first trembled, then bucked, and Sam’s bump hit the sheets with a quiet thud.

“Sammy?” Dean asked from where he was still seated between his brother’s thighs, one hand now running in gentle circles over Sam’s back and his quivering thighs.

It took a moment until Sam caught his breath again. “‘M fine,” he breathed, then moaned at the feeling of Dean removing his slick fingers from Sam’s puffy hole.

Dean came up to kiss the nape of Sam’s neck. “We should take it slow,” he then said and he was considering jerking off on Sam and then going to sleep when he felt his brother clutch his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Fuck me, Dean,” Sam said, sincere, and with that needy, broken look on his face. “Please, I want it, I need it.” And Dean nodded and kissed Sam long and slow until their lips tingled. He brushed his fingers through Sam’s hair, tweaked his nipples, sucked a hickey into the small indent just below Sam’s throat and soon Sam felt his cock twitch in renewed interest.

“Fuck,” he muttered when his brother licked the cooling come from the bump and then Dean laughed and kissed the tender skin around Sam’s belly button.

“Please don’t hate me for what I’m about to do with your daddy,” he whispered against the swell, snickered some more before laying tickling kisses on his brother’s belly.

Sam pulled a face. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, hissing when Dean gave his cock a few long strokes before he clasped both hands around Sam’s wrists.

“I know,” Dean replied and then pulled carefully. “C’mon, get up. Get on top of me.”

There was some moving around and for a moment only the rustling of the sheets interrupted the silence, but eventually Dean sat down against the headboard and Sam crawled on top of him. Slowly, he lowered himself down until he could feel Dean’s hot, hard cock nudging against his slick hole and suddenly the urgency was back, the need, the ache building inside him.

“Go slow,” Dean muttered quietly and he skimmed his fingers up Sam’s arms. Only Sam didn’t want to, and with a long, loud moan he slid down until Dean’s cock was buried inside him to the hilt. Heat surged through Sam, striking the place right behind his belly button and causing a flame to lick down his legs up and through his chest. His fingers were digging into Dean’s biceps, his eyes rolled back in utter bliss and after a few moments of breathless silence, he slowly started moving.

After only a few thrusts, Sam was already feeling like he was suffering from sensory overload, and when he leaned down to kiss Dean there was no finesse in it, no effortless grace. It was sloppy, hurried, hungry, and turned everything that followed after into a blur of oh god and please more.

It took Sam saying “Come on, I’m not gonna break,” for Dean to start moving with his brother’s desperate thrusts, but once fueled he didn’t need to be asked twice to fuck up and into the velvet heat of Sam’s ass. His hands carefully held Sam’s bump while he rocked up into Sam, slamming home, cock jabbing, eyes never leaving his brother’s familiar silhouette. Despite all the times they had fucked, Sam was still very tight, all hot and silken inside, his cheeks baby-soft as they moved together until the mattress creaked.

Sam gasped at every thrust and Dean grunted, moaned, kissed Sam’s belly and his chest, the gentle curve of his throat, everything he could reach. His hands held Sam tenderly and Sam dragged himself up before crashing down again and again, until they were both trembling with exertion. His cheeks were tinged red, as was his chest, and the dusky pink of his nipples stood out proudly from the blush.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean wheezed as his muscles went rigid. He felt hot and needy, ready to lose himself in the swirling, desperate bliss.

Sam smiled down at him and then nodded. His face was flushed and his hair damp as he kept fucking himself on Dean’s cock until they both tipped over the edge and into the long, long fall. Crashing back into the pillows, Dean watched a wash of come pulse from the tip of Sam’s rosy cock before he came himself, long and hard and deep inside Sam’s body.

Their bodies felt like wax afterward, ready to melt into the new mattress. Their limbs went lax and Sam bent down to kiss Dean leisurely before he slowly got off his brother’s spent cock to lie down beside him for a while. Their shoulders brushed and Sam felt the sheets sticking to his sweaty back. They took a long moment to catch their breath and calm their trembling bodies before Dean spoke again.

“I love you,” he murmured into the dampness of Sam’s hair, face buried in the chestnut colored mess.

Stifling a yawn, Sam let out a small, amused huff. “I love you, too. Now get up and get me a cloth so I can get your jizz off me. I’m starting to feel icky.”

“You’re so unromantic,” Dean replied with a sigh as he got up to go and get his brother what he wanted. He was halfway down the hallway when he heard Sam’s voice.

“I think I was pretty romantic when I let you come in my asshole, jerk!”

Dean laughed. Yeah, that was probably true.

 ♦ 

I commissioned my wonderful friend Pao for this fic and wanted to share the beautiful outcome. [Go, cheer for her and tell her her art is breathtaking.](http://possessivejensen.tumblr.com/) I love you so much baby, thank you for this perfect piece of art and the inspiration it brought along! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


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